The Tragic Tale of the TaranTula Triplex (and more)

For those of my readers (all 3 of you) who already know this story (all 3 of you) I apologize for writing it again. You see, it must be part of my written documentation so that when I die they can use it in my bid for sainthood.

It was more than a year and a half ago that Jordan and I found our new house. The perfect house for us. Two bedrooms, decent backyard, and a detached garage (aka the laBORatory). We had no pets at the time. Unusual for a couple who had owned a ball python, a rosy boa named "azul", a large and very cranky iguana, a musky sugar glider, and no less than three water turtles. As we were packing for the move, Jordan ran across an old terrarium and asked if I thought he should toss it. "No way. What if you want another snake or something? And you know you will."

Well this triggered something in his tireless brain. "Hey, can I get a tarantuala?" Now, I hate tarantulas. I can deal with house spiders, daddy long-legs in the shower, stuff like that. But I've always disliked the idea of these weighty, hairy, big-fanged creatures. So I just said no, no way was one of these things living in my house. "But wait!" says the boy-genius, "I can keep it in the garage! Brilliant!" I had to admit he had me there. So I acquiesced and we went to the pet store and picked out a rather common Chilean Rose Hair. Jordan named her (him?) Parker Posey.

Not long after Parker had settled in, we began to experience an uncommonly cold winter for Santa Barbara. Even with a heat lamp, the terrarium just wasn't warm enough for a desert dwelling spider. At least that's what he told me, and so I agreed to let him keep him in the guest bedroom for a while. But I could think of no guest who would want to sleep with a spider, so I made him promise to come up with a solution quick. It was his off season at work, so he had plenty of time.

It seems like it was just days after this episode that I came home from work to find Jordan at the computer. "Hey, I just ordered the coolest spiderling. It's only a quarter inch long. It'll be here in a few days!"

Blink. Blink blink. "You ordered another spider? When your wife has made it abundantly clear that she hates them?!"

"But..." blink blink..."you like spiders now."

The story only got worse when I found out this was to be a Salmon Pink Bird Eater that would grow to 10 inches at full maturity. A 10 inch spider. In my home. And of course a quarter inch spiderling would DEFINITELY have to stay indoors. God dammit. His name is Archimedes.

Well, I'm a tough cookie and so I put my foot down. At five. Yes, that's right. Five tarantulas. "We" have added a Costa Rican Tigerrump (Shere Khan), Indian Ornamental (Pi), and some species of Baboon (Atlas).

And this is where they live.

We call it the condo. An impressive piece of handmade furniture that makes our friends and relatives only marginally more comfortable spending time in our home. Every time Jordan's away for a long period of time at work, I'm pretty sure I'm going to kill one, but I've had no success yet. They're tenacious little suckers.

So the next time your loved one makes you feel a little bonkers with their demands, remember the sad tale of Santa Marianna and tell yourself..."Hey. It's not five spiders."